


An Old Friend

by Lonaargh



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, Drinking, Friendship, M/M, Manly Feels, Mild Spoilers, Quite Literally, Scars, Smut, some gun violence, talking about feels, train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: For the robbers it was a spot of bad luck that they tried to hold up the Rikimaru while McCree was enjoying the best bowl of ramen he ever had. For Genji and McCree it might just be the start of a beautiful friendship.~“Curiosity killed the cat,” Genji says, not looking at McCree. Instead, he seems to be scanning the almost empty bar.“Oh, that’s no problem. Like a cat, I have more than just the one life. I don’t mind taking risks if it satisfies my… curiosity.” McCree can’t help but grin wider when Genji finally turns to look at him, a hint of a smile in his reddish grey eyes.“Is that so? And how many of your lives do you still have left, Mr. McCree? Are you sure you can afford being curious about me?”
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Genji Shimada
Kudos: 23





	An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apollonie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonie/gifts).



> Okay, so this is an AU because I SOMEHOW completely missed that Jesse and Genji already knew each other from their Blackwatch days. Idiot, thy name is Lonaargh.  
> So anyway, I had to bribe my good friend Apollonie and what better way to get what you want than through smut? Right? Right? Right!
> 
> This was supposed to be a quick, dirty, short one-shot. The only thing I achieved was it being a one-shot. 
> 
> Oh well! Enjoy and let me know what you think!

A gentle chime announces a new visitor entering the shop. It isn’t a remarkable shop. It’s the Rikimaru, a ramen shop. Not particularly cozy or interesting, but the noodles are the best in all Hanamura. But even the best noodles in town won’t attract many people at 2 AM on a weekday. The visitor looks around and seems surprised that he isn’t the only customer at this late hour. He looks back over his shoulder through the glass door, fidgeting with the buttons on his raincoat. He doesn’t say anything, but shifts his weight to his other foot, nods and quickly ambles forward to the counter. As he’s walking he casts a quick glance at the single other patron in the corner of the shop. 

A Stetson hat and something that seems like a dusty cape are draped over a chair, and its owner is calmly eating from his bowl of noodles, paying the visitor no heed.

The new visitor approaches the smiling girl behind the counter and lays a folded note on the counter, pushing it towards her. She looks at the man quizzically before opening the note. Instantly, her smile vanishes and she pales. With trembling hands she opens the register and starts collecting the notes, putting them on the counter.

“You know.” The man in the corner suddenly speaks up, startling both the girl and the visitor, “This might not be apple pie, but it’s damn good food.”

The visitor scowls. “Nobody was asking you, just eat your damn food,” he snarls, twitching his coat to the side to reveal a revolver.

“I have a rule about good food,” the man continues, getting up slowly. He grabs his hat and cape, putting them on. “And that’s that you have to appreciate good food.”

“Sit the fuck down, are you insane?” The visitor growls, now openly pulling his revolver out and pointing it at the man. “I’m not going to warn you twice.”

The man smiles at the girl behind the counter, winking at her. “You might want to duck, darling,” he says, before turning his attention back to the visitor. “Now see, I’m a simple man. I don’t need much. But I’m a stickler for rules. A man’s gotta have rules.”

The visitor narrows his eyes. “I told you I wasn’t going to warn you twice. Let’s see if you’re still such a smartass after I’ve fed you some bullets.”

“Heh. It’s your funeral,” the man replies. Lightning quick, he draws his own revolver, pulling the trigger. The gunshot is loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood, but it’s nothing compared to the screaming of the visitor who is now clutching his bleeding wrist as his gun clatters to the ground. The man saunters over to him and grabs him by the collar, dragging him towards the exit. “Now, I want you to get the hell out of here and never come back. If I run into you again, the next bullet won’t go through your wrist. Got it?” The man kicks the doors open and throws the visitor out, on the street.

The man dusts himself off and gets back in the shop. “You’d probably best take the back entrance out, darling,” he says conversationally to the still cowering girl behind the counter, “I imagine he didn’t come here alone. It’s not going to be pretty in a few minutes. Excluding me, of course.”

She doesn’t need telling twice. As quick as her feet can carry her, she flees the shop, leaving the man behind.

He takes another mouthful of ramen. “Yep, these are darn good noodles,” he mutters to himself.

A fraction of a second later, the doors explode in a shower of glass as a rain of bullets hits them. The bowl of noodles shatters, spilling the hot broth everywhere. Everywhere but on the man, who had quickly rolled out of the way and underneath the table with his hat pulled over his face to shield his eyes.

He sighs. “Jesse McCree, why does trouble always seem to find you?” But the lazy grin on his lips betrays those words.

After a few seconds the spray of bullets stops and only the tinkling of glass on the tile floor can be heard. McCree lies there, waiting. His patience is rewarded after a minute or so when he hears the tell tale crunch of shoes on the glass shards on the floor.

“D’you think he’s dead, boss?” 

“Shut up, you idiot.”

Jesse grins, silently grabbing his faithful Peacekeeper.

The men slowly make their way through the diner, carefully checking every booth for McCree’s body. Step by step they come closer to his hiding spot. But he’s ready for them.

An unshaven, haggard face suddenly appears in his field of vision. “Boss! I-” 

With a flick of his wrist, McCree throws the flashbang grenade he’d been holding ready in the man’s face. The grenade goes off with a flash and a bang (who could’ve guessed), the man falls back on his back, screaming as he clutches his face. The other man, the boss, turns around too soon and is desperately trying to blink away the stars in his vision. Too little, too late. Two well placed shots take care of the man and his boss. But McCree doesn’t have much time to enjoy his well earned victory. As an answer to his shots, the remaining windows shatter from a barrage of bullets coming from the street. Probably the rest of the gang these two idiots belonged to. 

“Do you idiots really want to do this?” McCree shouts out, his back pressed against a pillar to stay out of line of sight of the shooters.

No response. Not that he really expected that, but it would be nice if people were civil for once. 

“Very well, it’s your funeral,” he mutters, reloading the Peacekeeper. 

He peeks around the pillar, taking in his attackers. He yanks his head back just in time as another spray of bullets ricochets off his pillar.

“Fourteen targets. That’s a bit much, even for me,” he muses, tipping his hat back a bit, “Well, we’ll just have to see how far we get.” He peeks around the pillar again, taking in the locations of at least seven of his assailants. When there’s a bit of a lull in the ongoing barrage he steps out from his hiding place, supports his gun arm with his mechanical arm and fires seven times in rapid succession. He smiles with approval when he hears an equal amount of thuds as the bodies drop to the ground, before he steps back to the relative safety of his heavily damaged pillar. He can appreciate the efficiency in what he just did. Maybe it’s time to relocate. Holding his hat tightly, he jumps and rolls to a few benches to the side. From here he has a view of five of the remaining bandits. 

Not taking his eye off the bandits, he wraps his fingers around another one of his flashbang grenades. “Hey fellas!” He calls out, “I’ve got something here with your names on it!” And tosses the grenades outside, in the middle of the group of bandits. A bang and a bright flash and McCree once again leans out and shoots the five bandits. 

“Twelve down, two to go,” he chuckles.

Then he realizes that there’s no more shooting. He frowns, did the two remaining bandits give up? Run away? He didn’t hear anyone running away though. Carefully, he glances over the bench. Outside everything is quiet and serene.

In the glow of the neon sign he counts fourteen bodies slumped on the pavement in front of the store. Well now, that’s just strange.

He carefully gets up, hand still on his Peacekeeper, “I reckon I could’ve managed those last two just fine on my own,” he says out loud. “But I owe you my thanks anyway. Could you be persuaded to step out in the light so we can get further acquainted?”

Silence.

He takes a few more steps, taking care to not step on the broken glass. It’s probably best to avoid making unnecessary sounds. A daunting task, considering the glass is scattered everywhere. 

“I promise I won’t shoot you,” he calls out again, taking his hand off his gun. “See? No twitchy fingers near the trigger.” He hopes his unseen helper doesn’t notice his other hand near his last grenade though. He always considered himself friendly, but not stupid. 

Still no reply.

There it is. The smallest sound, barely a whisper, hardly more than a twitch inside his ear. In the blink of an eye, Jesse turns around and throws the flashbang grenade. A metallic sound rings out through the diner and the next thing he sees is his own grenade flying back to him.

“Oh shi--” 

A bang and a flash. McCree can’t see or hear anything for a second, blinded by the flash and deafened by the bang. Now he knows what he always puts his own targets through and he doesn’t really like this taste of his own medicine.

“Oof!”

The air is knocked out of his lungs by what feels a lot like a battering ram against his chest, sending him flying backwards and onto the floor. 

Through the ringing of his ears, he can hear the glass tinkle around him and feels it tear at his shirt as he glides over the tiles until he finally comes to a stop against the opposite wall.

Gasping for breath he struggles to get up, but instantly freezes when he feels something cold and sharp press against his throat, followed by the feeling of someone straddling him. Firmly. Gently, still seeing nothing more than flashing spots of colour, he lies back, his hands up next to his head.

“Disappointing,” A voice, slightly robotic and tinged with amusement, says. “I was hoping for a challenge.”

The spots finally dissipating, Jesse McCree finds himself staring up at a.. well, a metal mask, really. 

“If you would be so kind as to remove this butter knife from my throat, I’d be more than happy to give you a challenge,” he replies with as much dignity and as airily as one can manage while in his position.

“Tempting. But I fear I must decline,” the voice answers. “Mister Shou doesn’t appreciate his shop being shot to pieces. I imagine he will be very upset when he finds out.”

“I’d nod in agreement if I weren’t worried about accidentally slitting my own throat, so let me just say that I agree with you. Which is why I was trying to fight those bandits off, as you may have seen through that rather impressive visor.” Impressive visor and from what he can see from this awkward position, not a very bad physique either, McCree notices as he takes his opponent in. 

“What I saw was a cowboy clumsily and loudly trying to help and making an already precarious situation much worse. Suffice it to say that I’m not impressed.”

“Ouch. Rude. But listen, before we continue. I don’t know how long you’re gonna keep sitting there, but the answer to the question you’re going to have to ask very soon is ‘No, that’s not a very large roll of coins in my pocket.’”

McCree relaxes slightly when the sword is removed and he can breathe a bit more easily now. “Can I get up?” He asks, “I’m just asking in case you decide to kick me down again, seems more efficient this way. Not that I mind you sitting on top of me, it’s just that usually I’m the one on top and let me tell you-”

The weight on his body disappears and a bionic arm reaches down, grabs his own and hauls him upright with ease. “Ain’t that peachy,” McCree remarks, rubbing his shoulder where his arm and own bionic arm meet. “We could be buddies in arms, bud.” 

That’s when he finally sees his conversation partner fully for the first time. A ninja. An actual, freaking, cyborg ninja, stands in front of him. 

“Not quite, _bud_.” 

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to offend. Though, just a thought, some people might think being offensive after getting kicked in the chest is a perfectly reasonable response.”

The ninja snorts. “Some other people might think that getting a grenade hurled towards your face is a perfectly good reason to kick someone in the chest.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Jesse nods as he looks around. “It is a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Such a shame of those amazing noodles, let me tell you.”

They both look up when they hear police sirens rapidly approaching.

“It seems someone has alerted the police,” the ninja comments, glancing back at McCree. “If I might suggest a swift retreat? Vigilantes are not exactly… welcome.”

Jesse tilts his hat back a bit with his thumb. “I suppose people might not take it well when a noodle shop gets shot to bits, despite my best intentions. Very well. Thanks again for the help, mister…?”

The ninja somersaults up and disappears into the shadows in the rafters.

“Alright then.” McCree shrugs and saunters towards the back exit when he hears the ninja speak again.

“Genji. Genji Shimada. It was a pleasure to meet you, mister McCree.”

McCree chuckles as he steps out into the night, lighting his cigar. “The pleasure was mine, Genji. All mine.”

~~

Christmas. Calaveras, Dorado. The world is spinning. It was a fun kind of spinning up to the second glass of whiskey. Four more glasses and an hour later, the spinning is quite obnoxious and very nauseating. Using his metal finger, McCree doodles tiny stick figures in the whiskey he spilled on the bar. A barrel shaped figure with four legs has a slight resemblance to a horse. Another shape might look like his pistol, if you squint hard enough. 

He raises a finger to the bartender. “Another one, please and thank you, partner.”

The bartender nods and slides another glass over the bar to McCree, who deftly catches it before pulling a face. “Ice? Do I look like I want ice in my drink?”

He peers at the offending cubes for a bit longer before shrugging and downing the liquid in one go. “Apparently I do, who would've guessed?” he mutters, carefully putting the glass back on the bar.

A few feet away from him Sombra is pointedly ignoring him. She’s still nursing the same tequila beer she ordered when she came in. McCree is fairly sure she recognized him, but neither of them is interested in company tonight. Fuck Christmas. He doodles another thing and then stares at it for a second, frowning. “Fuck Christmas,” he repeats, out loud. The bartender shoots him a glance, but doesn’t respond. 

Suddenly he sees Sombra stiffen. He blinks, and she’s gone. Well, ain’t that interesting? He orders another drink. Any other bartender would’ve cut him off long ago, but this man knows better than to contradict his clientele. He picks McCree’s glass up, rinses it and refills it with another shot of whiskey, sans ice, before sliding it back over the bar. To McCree’s immense annoyance, the glass is intercepted before it reaches his outstretched fingers.

“Now, didn’t anybody ever tell you that it’s unwise to get between a man and his drink?” He growls. 

“Nope,” the whiskey thief replies, slamming the now empty glass back on the bar and taking a seat next to McCree. “Could use some ice.”

McCree looks up and studies the person next to him. A man, wearing a grey hoodie and… half a metal mask? He frowns in confusion, a memory from a while back trying to make itself known. 

“Say, you seem familiar,” he says, squinting. “Ain’t I killed you before?”

The masked man laughs, a pleasant sound that gives McCree goosebumps. “No. Not even close. But if it helps, I don’t think you tried your hardest back then.”

The sound of his voice kicks the memory back to the front of McCree’s brain. “Oh, hang on. You’re the cyborg ninja! Genji, wasn’t it?” He sits up a bit straighter, looking at Genji with interest.

“Green Cyborg Ninja Dude, that’s me,” Genji replies dryly, flagging the bartender down. The bartender nods and places another glass of whiskey in front of McCree.

“On me,” Genji says. “Because I stole yours.”

“That’s mighty generous of you,” McCree says sarcastically. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He takes a small sip of the drink, not taking his eyes off of Genji. The memory of being pinned down on the ground is now clear and sharp in his mind, front center. He leans back, raising his glass. “Now, when we first met I was mildly interested about why a cyborg ninja would butt into my business-”

Genji chuckles, a sound that does _things_ to McCree. Things he’d love to explore more and in further detail later. 

“-And now we’re on the other side of the globe, in the same bar. My mild interest has now risen to straight up curiosity.” Among other things.

“Koukishin neko wo korosu.”

The words send shivers down Jesse’s spine. Who knew he had a thing for cyborg ninja’s speaking in foreign languages. A slow, crooked grin spreads on his lips. “I have no idea what you just said, but I absolutely agree.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Genji says, not looking at McCree. Instead, he seems to be scanning the almost empty bar.

“Oh, that’s no problem. Like a cat, I have more than just the one life. I don’t mind taking risks if it satisfies my… curiosity.” He can’t help but grin wider when Genji finally turns to look at him, a hint of a smile in his reddish grey eyes.

“Is that so? And how many of your lives do you still have left, Mr. McCree? Are you sure you can afford being curious about me?”

Jesse tips his hat back and leans forward a bit more. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be worth the risk. The real question is if you can handle me. I can provide quite the rodeo. And please, call me Jesse.”

Genji laughs. And if his chuckle did _things_ to McCree, his actual laugh makes the gunslinger weak at the knees. Though that could also be the whiskey. 

“You are very sure of yourself,” Genji remarks, also leaning in a bit, arms placed comfortably on the bar.

“Always,” McCree says, winking at Genji who laughs again.

“I suppose I’ll have to find that out for myself one day,” Genji answers, suddenly pushing off from the bar and getting back to his feet. “But for now I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave. I’m looking for someone and I’ve indulged in this distraction for far too long.”

McCree nods. So that’s why Sombra disappeared. He wonders how these two know each other. A strange feeling starts brewing in the pit of his stomach. Is that… jealousy? Huh. Interesting.

“I don’t suppose you know where she went?” Genji asks, putting a hand on McCree’s shoulder.

“Sorry bud,” McCree shakes his head. “Don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

Even though a mask obscures most of Genji’s face, McCree could swear that he’s smiling right now. 

“Loyalty. I can admire that. Merry Christmas, Mister McCree.” He winks. “Jesse.”

Genji leaves the bar, leaving McCree behind with his drink and a tingly feeling where Genji touched him. And maybe somewhere else as well. Best not to dwell on that too long.

Next to him, Sombra flickers back into existence. 

“Thanks,” she says.

“I’m no snitch, Sombra. You know that,” McCree says, downing his glass.

“I’ll be honest, by the way you were looking at him, I figured you’d give me up in a heartbeat if it meant he’d owe you certain favours.”

“Huh. D’ya think you could stick around here while I go find him? Asking for a friend.”

Sombra smirks. “Not a chance, cowboy.” 

McCree waves her away. “Just get lost before I change my mind.” He doesn’t wait for her to leave, nor does he actually care. He rests his head on the bar, next to the quickly drying doodle he made before Genji appeared. A doodle that looks remarkably like a mask.

~

It’s hard to nap when the wind is blowing around you at 640 kilometers an hour. Jesse is determined to make the effort though. Traveling per hyper train is quick and reliable, and there are worse places to sleep. He’s almost asleep when he hears the telltale sound of choppers. That’s not a good sign. A quick glance confirms his suspicions. Bad news. Bad news in the form of Talon. Well. Shit.

With a heavy sigh he gets up, irritably chewing his cigar as he makes his way forward on top of the train. “A man can’t even travel in peace,” he grumbles.

He grabs the side of the train and swings himself through the window, boots first, shattering glass everywhere. The Talon goons barely have time to blink before he quickly and expertly drops them. 

“Heh, all this glass reminds me of something,” he tells the passengers, reloading the Peacekeeper. “Or should I say, someone?”

He relights his cigar and moves towards the next car. “Stay seated, folks.”

When he enters the car, he sees a Talon thug on the phone, while holding a gun to the head of a passenger.

“-do we need him alive?”

Now, that just won’t do. 

“Copy that, sir.” Those are the last words the thug will ever utter. He drops to the ground, a newly made hole in his head.

Jesse sighs as he puts his smoking Peacekeeper back in its holster. “It always upsets me when they threaten to kill innocent people. Assuming you’re innocent, of course, partner.”

He turns to the hostage but freezes in his step when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Jesse McCree.”

He slowly raises his hands in the air. “Listen, buddy. I don’t know what could possibly bring you to this train, but I’m telling you. You ain’t getting off alive.”

The man holding the gun scoffs. “Shut yer trap, McCree. You’re meddling in things you can’t possibly-”

ZING.

Thud.

The hostage turns even paler. The severed head of the Talon thug that held a gun to Jesse’s head just seconds ago, rolls through the carriage. 

“This is the third time you manage to get the jump on me,” Jesse says, without turning around.

“And the second time I’ve saved your life,” Genji says, making him smile.

“Nah, the first time I definitely didn’t need your help.”

“Of course.”

He holds up a finger. “Give me a second, I’m in the middle of something here,” McCree says, turning back to the hostage. “So. A code, huh? No need to tell me the code, just tell me if the interesting cargo is in the back or the front of the train.”

“T-the back,” the man stutters.

“Much obliged, partner.” McCree touches the brim of his hat and saunters forward. His smile broadens when he sees Genji fall into step beside him.

“So, the third time. I’d be willing to believe the first and second time were coincidences. But now? Are you following me, hombre?”

“No. But it seems disaster does, my friend.”

Jesse glances at Genji, who’s wearing his full mask again, “Friend, huh?”

They open the door to the next carriage and only barely manage to dive to the side in time to avoid the attack.

“It seems we no longer have the element of surprise,” Jesse says, grinning broadly at Genji.

“Most unfortunate. But nothing we can’t overcome,” Genji answers, his visor briefly glowing bright green.

“Agreed.” Jesse nods. “Heads down, everybody!” He shouts, before jumping up and fanning the trigger on the Peacekeeper, taking out several Talon goons in one go. Genji makes use of this distraction to rush forward, brandishing his wakizashi, cutting down at least two opponents and clearing a path for McCree to shoot the last Talon member.

“Tell me, friend, what brings you to this train if you’re not following me?” McCree asks, “It’s not as if I mind you company, quite the contrary, but it does pique my curiosity, so to speak.”

“I’m merely traveling to Houston, that’s all.”

“Hmm. Shame. I thought for sure it was my irresistible charm that keeps bringing you back to me.”

“Who knows? I won’t deny that you intrigue me, Jesse.”

The conductor opens the door a crack, confused by the sudden change in tone outside his door.

“Howdy, conductor. I apologize for the disturbance, me and my… friend… here, were just trying to rid you of these pesky intruders.” Jesse puts his Peacekeeper back in its holster and smiles his most charming smile, “Now, if you would kindly open the door so we can take a look at whatever the hell it is that has their drawers in such a tizzy, I’d be much obliged.”

The conductor opens the door and they’re greeted by a box. A glowing box. A purple glowing box.

“W-what is that?” The trembling conductor asks, peeking over Jesse’s shoulder.

“I ain’t got the foggiest,” Jesse answers. “Genji? Care to take a guess as well?”

Genji shrugs. “It seems dangerous. Glowing things found in cargo holds are rarely safe.” His visor glows slightly brighter. “The main question is, do we want to keep it out of Talon’s talons, or do we want to keep these people safe?”

“That’s not even a question, bud,” Jesse replies, already sliding the large cargo doors open. “We can’t fight off any backup with just the two of us, no matter how well you’re wielding that large, long sword of yours.”

He places his boot against the box and looks back at Genji. “Do you concur?”

“As much as I like watching you handling that big bad gun of yours, I do actually agree with you. It’s a lost battle. Getting rid of the box seems the wisest thing to do.” Genji nods.

With a well placed kick, Jesse sends the box flying out of the train. A quick glance behind him confirms what they already thought: Talon is more interested in the box than they are fighting Jesse and Genji. The helicopters stay behind, hovering over the box and letting the train go.

“That was an interesting choice of words,” Jesse tells Genji with a shit eating grin as they walk back to the dining cart together. “‘Big bad gun’ eh?”

“Oh, I thought that would be the best response to ‘large long sword’. Did I offend?”

“No, not at all. Quite the opposite, really.”

They sit down in a booth, amidst the glass shards and dazed passengers. A steward hurries towards them. “Thank you, thank you both. Without your help, we would be-”

“Very dead.” Jesse nods. “I don’t suppose you could repay us with a nice glass of bourbon?”

“Of course! Of course! Anything you want!” The stewards bows, hands clasped together in gratitude. He grabs an unopened bottle of bourbon and two glasses and places them in front of Genji and Jesse.

“You’re too kind.” Jesse grins, grabbing the bottle. He quickly opens it before the steward can change his mind, and pours Genji and himself a generous glass.

The stewards bobs and bows again, apologizing profusely for the mess before leaving to do something about said mess.

“Well, who knew that I would one day travel inside the hyper train?” Jesse says, leaning back and putting his boots on the table.

Genji politely pushes his glass of bourbon towards him and he accepts it without comment.

“So, at least an hour until we reach Houston,” he says nonchalantly. “Wanna trade scar stories?”

Genji looks at him, visor glowing. “Is that your way of asking ‘what the fuck happened to you’?”

Jesse laughs. “I suppose so. I can go first, if you’d like?”

Genji shrugs, so he just goes ahead. He taps his metal arm, “I used to be part of a gang. Lovely people. Lovely boss, absolutely brilliant gal. Not too bad on the eyes either. You two would probably get along like a house on fire. Ashe. It’s her name and generally all that she leaves behind after a heist.” 

Genji leans back, listening as Jesse continues his story. “Now, Ashe has a butler. A big old robot, called Bob. And she takes that hunk of scrap metal everywhere. Every heist, every trip, he would be there. One day, we were up against an enemy who knew about Bob. And they employed a darn good hacker. So good, in fact, that they managed to hack Bob. Turned him against Ashe.”

“Her love for her best friend turned out to be her greatest weakness?” Genji offered.

“Something like that. Bob grabbed her and tried to squeeze her head clean off. Now, I couldn’t let that happen, obviously. A dead boss means no more money. And I may have a fondness for the girl. So I shot Bob in an attempt to make him drop Ashe.”

“I take it that it didn’t work?”

“Oh, it worked.” Jesse rubs his shoulder. “A bit too well. Bob dropped Ashe and I was too surprised by that. Didn’t respond quick enough when he made a grab for me. You know those kids who like to pull the legs from spiders and ants and the like? Well, let me tell ya, I feel a lot more sympathy for those bugs since that event.”

“He pulled your arm off?” 

“Yep, just ripped it clean off. It’s not something I can recommend to anyone.”

Genji nods slowly. “I think I can imagine, yes.”

Jesse looks at him, taking in the mask and overall cyborg appearance. “Y’know, normally when people say that, that ‘I can imagine’-crap, I tend to tell them that there’s no way in hell they can imagine what it feels like. But I suppose you really can, can’t you?”

A slight shrug. 

“Anyhow,” McCree continues. “While Bob was busy dismantling me, Ashe had gotten back to her feet and grabbed her rifle just in time to blow his goddamn head off, saving my life in the process.”

“After you saved hers first, though.”

“Yeah. Still. She didn’t really thank me, considering her favourite butler was now a headless pile of junk.”

Genji leans back in his seat. “Robots can be rebuilt. Humans. Well. Humans as well, but not as easy.”

“It took me three bloody years to get used to this sucker,” Jesse goes on, looking fondly at his mechanical arm. “But now, I wouldn’t gladly part with him.”

“Him?”

“Oh yeah, this asshole has a mind of its own.” He chuckles. “He’ll sometimes do things before I even think of it. Like throwing a flash bang grenade at a poor unsuspecting ninja.”

He sits up straight. “So, now it’s your turn. What happened to you that turned you into a giant action figure?”

Genji laughs again and McCree decides that he should make Genji laugh a lot more. The sound of it is addictive.

He’s surprised when Genji reaches up and takes off his mask and shocked when he sees the damage underneath.

“Oh dang, that had to smart.” 

It’s not until Genji grasps his wrist that he notices his mechanical hand reaching out to touch the ninja’s face.

“Ah. See? A mind of its own,” he chuckles, leaning back again.

“It was my brother,” Genji says, releasing Jesse’s wrist. “To make a long story short, he wasn’t pleased with how I behaved after our father died.”

“Huh. I guess sibling love only goes so far.”

“He left me for dead. Some friends patched me up. It’s been… an interesting couple of years.”

Jesse frowns. “That’s some heavy disapproving your brother did, from the looks of it. I mean, your face-”

Genji barks a bitter laugh. “My face is actually the least of the damage.”

Jesse whistles low and opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the steward.

“Uh, Mister McCree, sir? We’re almost arriving in Houston. But there’s a police report. They’re saying you’re the one who… who…”

McCree sighs. “Yeah, I figured. No matter. Could you do us one favour though, partner?”

“Anything!”

“Could you get on the radio and fudge our time of arrival a bit? We could use a five minute head start.”

~ 

“I will not grant you the death you seek. You still have a purpose to serve in this life. Brother.”

Even from this distance, Jesse can see Hanzo’s eyes grow wide. He smirks. Serves the bastard right.

“No! My brother is dead!”

Shock. Guilt. Grief. Horror. All these emotions poured into just one word: “Genji.”

Jesse pushes off from the wall and starts walking down the street, past the Rikimaru where they first met. There, he leans against the wall in a shadowy corner and lights his cigar. 

It doesn’t take long before he hears the soft footfalls on the roofs just above.

“Y’know,” he says out loud. “I’m pleasantly surprised that they rebuilt the noodle shop. Those were good noodles.”

The footsteps stop instantly.

He takes a drag of his cigar. “For what it’s worth, I think your brother is an asshole and a bastard.”

Genji drops down in front of him, visor flashing. “Do not speak about my brother like that!”

Jesse grins, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to offend… old friend.”

“What are you doing here?” Genji demands, his voice low.

“I was in the area.” Jesse shrugs. “And I thought, hey, let’s go visit a friend. Make sure he does survive this particular family reunion.”

“You would have dared to interfere?”

“Absolutely.” Another drag of the cigar, the tip glowing a bright orange in the shadows. “See, I may not have a brother. Or any real family, when it comes to that. But I do have friends that are dear to me. And unlike your brother, I actually do care whether or not they die. And I just so happen to count you as one of those dear friends.”

“You have no right-”

“And it’s a moot point anyway, seeing as how you’re standing in front of me without me having to help. Ain’t that just peachy?”

Genji scoffs and turns to leave. 

Jesse puts his hand on Genji’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “I apologize.” He sighs. “I just figured you could use someone to, y’know, talk to. After all that.”

“I can’t be seen around here,” Genji replies, not looking back, but not shaking Jesse’s hand off either. “These people are no friends to me or my family. Not anymore.”

“Well, turns out I know just the place. You see, I’ve got an appointment at Route 66. And a friend who works at the hyper train who owes me one. What do you say to a little road trip? Just you and me? Well, and the rest of the passengers, obviously.” 

He takes his hand from Genji’s shoulder. Genji doesn’t reply, but jumps up. For a brief second Jesse can hear brief footsteps on the rooftop, before those too fade away.

~

He’s taking a nap in the cabin. Feet on the table, arms crossed in front of his chest and his hat pulled down over his eyes. Outside the window of the speeding train the world flashes by. The steward was more than happy to give him what he wanted: a first class ticket. Or rather, two. He wouldn’t admit it if anybody asked, but he’d been waiting for Genji to show up until the very last minute before departure. 

“Stupid ninja cyborg,” he mumbled, before finally getting on, just before the door closed. 

And now he was feeling weirdly sorry for himself as he was sitting alone in his private carriage. 

The door slides open, almost noiselessly.

“I already told you, Henry, I ain’t in the mood. I got plenty of food and drink here, and I promise I won’t smoke my cigars inside the dang train. Just leave me the hell alone until mornin’,” Jesse growls, not even lifting his hat.

“Did anybody ever tell you that your drawl gets worse when you’re annoyed?” An all too familiar voice asks.

Jesse shoots up, clumsily kicking his bourbon off the table, “Genji!”

Genji, mask replaced by a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, dressed in his grey hoodie and pants, drops down on the bench next to where Jesse was sitting. “The one and only. Would you mind terribly if we share the bourbon? Friend?”

Jesse gingerly sits back down, still staring at Genji.

Genji pulls his scarf down, and smiles softly at the gunslinger. “Don’t tell me I managed to surprise you again, old friend?”

“As a matter of fact, you did,” Jesse says. “I thought you needed some more time alone after meeting your brother like that.”

“I needed… _need_ … something.” Genji nods ponderously, eyes sparkling. “And time is probably one of those things.”

“But?” Jesse prompts, fighting hard to keep his arm from reaching out again.

“But, what I need more than that, right now...” Genji grabs Jesse’s arm, his real one, and gently places the palm of his hand against his own scarred face “...is an old… friend.”

The scar tissue feels smooth and rough at the same time and Jesse swallows as he slowly moves his thumb up and down over Genji’s skin. Why the hell is his heart suddenly going berserk?

“Can you… y’know… feel this?” He asks hoarsely, running his thumb lightly over Genji’s cheekbone.

Genji smiles, gently leaning into the touch. “It differs. There are dead areas, but also some hypersensitive patches. You could say it’s an adventure to find out?” He takes Jesse’s hand again, brings it to his lips and presses a kiss in the open palm, his eyes never leaving Jesse’s as his teeth ever so slightly graze the skin.

“I dunno,” Jesse breathes. “I’ve been told by a reliable source that it might be risky.”

Genji laughs and _oh my god_ , how can one man be this sexy just by laughing? “And I’ve been told that you like to take risks, as long as it satisfied you.”

“Satisfied my _curiosity_.” Jesse corrects him, watching mesmerized as Genji releases his hand and moves closer to him.

“Oh, I intend to satisfy much more than just your curiosity,” Genji whispers against his lips, reaching up and taking McCree’s hat off.

“Is that so?” Jesse murmurs back, all smartassery forgotten.

Genji just nods, wrapping his fingers in Jesse’s hair as he pulls the cowboy closer, lips finally meeting.

Jesse expected to need some time to adjust to the scars, but to his surprise the ninja’s lips are soft (so soft) and warm. He finds himself melting against the cyborg’s hard body, his hands leading a life of their own. A moan escapes his mouth, instantly prompting Genji to softly tug on his hair. And Jesse nearly loses his mind from that sensation. Every fiber in his being screams to jump this man. Climb him like a tree. Well, a small tree. Maybe a branch. He tries not to think of any growing wood jokes, but that proves to be painfully hard. But he gives in and lets Genji pull his head back by his hair, baring his throat to him. 

“I thought I told you that I’m usually the one on top,” he manages to bring out, as Genji messes with his ability to think by slowly kissing his throat, moving up to his ear.

“You did,” Genji whispers in his ear, just before taking his earlobe between his teeth. “Your point being?”

Jesse gasps in both pleasure and pain when Genji bites down harder, before running his tongue over the now slightly painful and sensitive spot.

“My point being that I feel like you’re purposely trying to undermine my- oh sweet Jesus.” He isn’t sure if he means it as a curse or a compliment, when Genji forcefully pushes him back against the bench and climbs on his lap.

“No, please, do continue telling me what you feel,” Genji tells him, a lazy, crooked smile on his lips “You were saying I’m trying to undermine… something?” Strong hands make quick work of Jesse’s shirt, tearing it open, the buttons no match for Genji’s desire to touch him. 

“Yes, you are trying to undermine my-” Fingers playing with curly chest hair, “-my-”, strong metal hands eagerly touching his skin, warmer than they have any right to be, “- my...uhm-”, Warm lips grazing his bare chest, the tip of a tongue darting out, licking his nipple, “-forget it!” This comes out as a frustrated growl, as he grabs Genji’s hair and pulls him back up, to his mouth. 

His intention was to kiss the ninja senseless, a proven and foolproof tactic. Experience has taught him that nobody can resist his firm grasp, his tender caresses. But he finds that Genji knows how to play this game as well. For every nibble at Genji’s lower lip, Genji retaliates with a quick bite on Jesse’s upper lip. They lick and nip at each other’s neck, bite and pull at earlobes. Every move Jesse makes is met with something equally tantalizing.

“You’re driving me nuts!” He snarls, slightly out of breath. 

Genji chuckles, hands lightly touching Jesse’s bare muscled stomach. “Is that so? I had no idea the handsome and charming Jesse McCree could be this easily distracted.”

“Oh, shut up,” Jesse sighs, pressing his lips against Genji’s again, his own hands now struggling to pull Genji’s hoodie up and over his head. When he finally manages to free Genji from his hoodie, he can’t help but gasp. Frowning, he reaches out to Genji’s chest with his real hand. He’s only ever seen him wearing his armour and now seeing him without is… yarring.

“Can I…?” He asks, looking in grey eyes that are tinged with red. 

“I wouldn’t have let you take my clothes off if you couldn’t,” Genji replies, resting his arms to his sides, allowing Jesse free access to his chest.

Using only the tips of his fingers, he traces the scars that mark the border between flesh and machine. And there are a lot of them. There had been almost nothing left to put together, judging from all this. Half his chest. His stomach. So much metal. So many wires. He doesn’t ask if it hurt. Having had his own arm torn off, he can imagine maybe a fraction of what Genji had to have gone through. And that’s enough to answer his question.

“I don’t think me and your brother will ever get along,” he mutters. “In fact, I might just tear him a new one if we ever do meet.”

Genji just shrugs.

Jesse places his hand where Genji’s belly button would’ve been, a wry smile playing on his lips when he sees goosebumps form on Genji’s skin. So, he isn’t leaving the ninja entirely unaffected. He places both his hands on Genji’s hips and moves forward, tracing a slow, wet path from the hollow of his throat all the way down to his middle. He briefly attempts to go lower, to the waistband, but quickly finds this would result in an awkward, if not impossible, position. So instead, he pulls Genji up, until he’s no longer sitting on Jesse’s lap, but instead kneeling on the bench, putting his waistband right in front of Jesse’s face. 

Jesse looks up, voicelessly asking permission to continue. Genji smirks back at him. “My, my, haven’t we grown bold?”

“Oh, we sure have grown, that’s for sure. Not sure if I would call it ‘bold’ though.” He hesitates for a second. “Maybe we should postpone this for a moment when we’re more certain of our privacy?”

“I told Henry that if he bothered us I’d cut off his thumbs and feed them to a pack of rabid squirrels.”

“Where are you going to find a pack of rabid squirrels on a _train_?”

“Strangely, he seemed intimidated enough and didn’t ask me that.”

Chuckling, Jesse pulls the waistband down, sliding it down over Genji’s formidable thighs. He sucks in a sharp breath. “So. Your brother stopped at nothing, did he?” He growls, a muscle in his jaw tightening. 

Genji clenches his knees firmer together and rolls to the side, flipping McCree over on the bench so that the ninja is now below him. Jesse, anger momentarily forgotten, smirks. He’s finally back on top.

“No. He didn’t. But luckily the same people who put me together again were also kind enough to provide me with certain… attachments.” The grin on Genji’s lips can only be described as wicked, as he unbuckles McCree’s pants and pulls it down his hips with a strong tug. “So I have no complaints in that regard. Sadly, I did not think to pack it because I was unaware that I might need my detachable penis on my quest to confront my brother.”

He looks down, grin growing. “And it seems that I will have nothing to complain about here either.”

Jesse looks down as well, his own cheeky grin matching Genji’s. “Yeah, well. What can I say?”

He gasps when Genji firmly wraps his fingers around the length of his shaft.

“Say nothing at all,” Genji replies huskily, studying his face intently as he slowly starts moving his hand up and down.

Jesse straightens up, steadying himself on the luggage rack over their heads. He’s breathing heavily and his entire body feels like it’s on fire. A grunt spills from his lips when Genji cups his balls with just enough pressure to make him hold still while still making the feeling beyond pleasurable.

Jesse has never felt less in control of a situation and though he’d never admit it, it’s working for him. Dear Lord, it’s working so well. He closes his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing, which is made impossible by Genji’s thumb sliding over the head of his cock, already slick with precum. “Open your eyes,” Genji commands, applying pressure to his frenulum and gently tugging his balls. 

Jesse obeys instantly, mind hazy as Genji increases the pressure, constantly moving his thumb back and forth over the small but highly sensitive piece of skin.

“S-shit,” he grunts, through clenched teeth. “Keep doing that and we’ll have a mess on our hands, bud.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Genji replies, dragging his tongue upwards from Jesse’s balls to where his thumb is still moving back and forth.

Jesse makes a strangled sound, the only thing he’s capable of right now. He’s hardly aware of it when Genji releases his balls and moves his hand upwards, until his penis is sheathed in both his fists, glistening and slippery with his own excitement. 

Genji starts moving his hands up and down, never breaking eye contact with Jesse, who gets the hint and starts thrusting in Genji’s fists.

It starts like a tickle from every corner of his body, an all too familiar and all consuming tingle. From the top of his head, all the way down to his toes.The tingling builds up in the pit of his stomach, a delectable pressure that he can’t stand and simultaneously wants to keep going as long as he can. And for a fraction of a second he’s convinced that he can. As the waterfall of pure pleasure runs through him, he actually thinks that he can prolong this feeling.

That is, until he hears Genji breathless laugh. That damnable chuckle of him. He’d known it would be his downfall when he first heard it. And now it’s the cause of the dam inside him bursting. Like a gunshot, both startling and discreet. Never before has his orgasm felt this intense, never before did it leave him reeling and drained of energy as this time, when he spills his seed in Genji’s hands. 

He stares, wide eyed, gasping, as he slowly regains his senses. He pulls out and steps off of Genji’s legs. Suddenly he’s aware of his muscles trembling, of the awkwardness of having his naked ass stick out from his half-pulled down pants that are now somewhere around his knees. “Jesus,” he whispers, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair.

Genji smiles a crooked grin, one eyebrow raised as he holds up his dripping hands. “So. Where shall we leave this?”

~

Genji might be the more dominant one, but Jesse will be damned if he’ll let him be the big spoon. A satisfied smile plays on his lips and he wraps one arm tighter around Genji’s waist.

“What are we going to do on Route 66?” Genji asks. “You never specified the details.”

“Oh, that?” McCree murmurs, already almost asleep. “We’re going to visit an old friend.”


End file.
